More short stores
By Christine Eskilson When the alarm blares at 6 a.m., I wrap myself in my bathrobe, thrust my feet into sheepskin slippers, and scurry to my kitchen window for a glimpse of him. I’ve cherished this morning ritual for the past six months. George, still upstairs in our bedroom, jabs…
By Justin Neff With nervous energy, the wind whipped across the freshly cut hay field, forming jagged funnels from the day’s remnants, and filling the air with the scent of forgotten earth. Mrs. Cunningham stood at the foot of her crooked porch steps. At such a late hour, she had…
By Peter Barbour Gracie sat on the veranda upon a soft cushioned wicker couch with her feet propped on a pillow atop a wicker ottoman, waiting. From the tenth floor of her condo, she looked out on her beautiful view, the intercoastal water-way, the ocean, the clouds, the buildings, and the…
By Marie Anderson Gina wanted to be a beautiful bride for Chet. And she wanted to make his mother happy by wearing the same wedding gown his mother and grandmother had worn. The problem was that her future mother-in-law had been—and still was—petite and slim. Gina was not slim. She…
By Emma Snyder There are hundreds of books on the art of drying plants,On pulling herbs, fresh, and tying them into bundles,Putting them into jars for topicals and tinctures,On the best way to preserve a bloom,Set it afloat in oil or resin,Press in between wax paper sheetsAnd make stained glass….
By Jerome McFadden April 28 I am a golf ball. At my core, I am a solid synthetic rubber sphere. My makers surrounded that with a tough, thermoplastic cover. Finally, they gave me all these cute little dimples and sprayed me with two—count that again, two!—coats of brilliant white paint…
By Louella M. Nelson “Daddy drowned them,” Dee Dee pronounced solemnly, plucking one of Mrs. Tal-bo’s gigantic silk undies from the whicker clothes basket on the grass and reaching to pin them to the clothesline. The humid breeze was making Dee grimace to hold the panties still. “Daddy put them…
By Debra Goldstein Peter Wabbit wanted a carat. Not just one carat, twenty to be exact. As he walked through the Louvre’s Gallerie D’Apollon, he merely glanced at the peached colored Hortensia diamond before going to stand before the case housing the white 140.5 carat Regent diamond. Too many carats….
By Ramona ScarboroughHonorable Mention in BWG’s 2020 Short Story Contest “Papi, that burro is smiling at me.” Diego’s father, Manuel, shook his head. “Burros don’t smile. Where do you get such ideas?” Diego stared at his sandal pushing dirt around on the road and didn’t answer. He wanted to say,…
By Sheryl Guterl She shyly covers her breastwith a tattered blanket,smiles at the infant,who searches, eyes closed, mouth open,for his nourishment.she sighs when the baby latches on,and only then looks up to meet my stare. I look away, embarrassedby my bold gape,amazed at this miracle of beautyhere—in a cheap motel…